A Promise Made, A Promise Kept
by AResidentGhost
Summary: She knew she was different than her father. Just how different she could never know, besides it being a secret withheld by her mother. Fantasy. EOW Child.
1. Prologue

The woman, barely an adult, feels the child move in her womb. The child gives a mighty kick to her diaphragm. She still does not know who the father is, though she does have an idea, but no name to attach to the image. He was the last and only man she had ever taken to bed. She never usually would have bedded a boyfriend, much less a stranger. But the man! He had such a mysterious, alluring air to him, and although he was stick-thin under the clothes he wore, and wore a mask on his face, he gave me such pleasure, as a woman _ought not rightly know—especially a virgin._

She never saw him again after that night, but he had left a note, saying that if she became pregnant to contact a certain office and everything will be taken care of and all expenses paid for. She was afraid, though, that it was an abortion clinic when she did realize that she was, in fact, pregnant.

When she finally contacted them, she was in for a surprise. It was not a clinic, but some private financial and personal services firm! They offered support for the care of the baby and its mother until birth and the father could claim the child.


	2. 1: Finding Father

"Mama," I cry out. "The other kids call me a bastard freak! Why?" Although I am of the age of ten years, mentally, I am much older. I have a few sisters and a brother, yet I look like neither mother nor father, although at times my eyes do resemble mama's. For one thing, my eyes are quite odd. Deep-set, they can only be seen in the dark, and that's when they shine a fierce _gold_, although at times they will flash a vivid, startling blue. These "flashes", however, only occur when I am feeling particularly intense emotions, which, thankfully, does not happen all that often.

"Rayne, you must learn to ignore those people. They do not know how special you really are, and are therefore quite jealous. Now go wash up; we are having a guest over for dinner tonight. I believe you'll really like him," mama says while making the gesture for "go on now". I wonder who the guest could be? It must be someone she knows or used to know intimately, for otherwise she would have told me to wear my mask. But she did not. Could this be my real father?

As I was saying about the mask… I don't usually wear one, and that's okay. I know that to wear my mask is not a punishment or horrible thing. I know, however, that most strangers would not be used to my face, and perhaps be afraid or even sickened by my countenance. So who could it be?


	3. 2: The Guest At Supper

I peek out from behind the balcony railing as mama answers the door. The man in the doorway is wearing a mask, what is behind it? Is he my father?

"Welcome! Come in, Mr. …?"

The man clears his throat. "Landrieu. Erik Landrieu. Thank you for letting me come once again. How is our _daughter_ doing? And how is business getting along?"

"You haven't changed a bit, sir. She is doing fine. And you would have to ask my husband about that," mama sighs.

"You don't look half-bad yourself, Amelia, _mon amour petite_," the masked man purrs.

"Dinner is almost ready, you can wait in the living room. Perhaps you can get to know Jeremy, my husband of ten years, and catch up on business."

I make my way down the stairs and into the living room. Papa is discussing something with the masked man. Something to do with drawings on paper.


	4. 3: Dinner and a Surprise

I was quiet all through dinner. Trust me—it was a long time for a ten year old! Mama, papa, and Mr. L (I do not know how to spell his last name) mostly discussed what was happening in the world, when Mr. L suddenly announced, well, rather _asked_ if I would mind coming to live with him. Of course I would mind! What about mama and papa? This is my _home_! At this point, mama asked me to go to my room and warned me about protesting. Did I do something wrong?

I am listening at my door. The voices are faint, but still audible to my sensitive ears.

"What do you mean she is not my daughter?" That would be papa. He sounds a bit angry, but at least he is not shouting. He is gentle, but when he gets horribly mad, I am often on the receiving end of his frustrations.

"Ask yourself this: Did you have premarital sex with your wife, Amelia?" His voice! It is so rich and melodic! It is making me feel as if I've had too much chocolate…

"Why?" Papa again, although he sounds much calmer. "Is this true, Amelia?"

A whispered "Yes."

Again, Mr. L speaks, "I have come here for my daughter. I see you have taken care of her very well, and you need not worry about her safety and health with me. In fact, she will probably be even safer with me than anywhere else in the next couple years of her life."


	5. 4: Father

While the masked men's hair was black as night, mama's was a strawberry blonde and papa's was mousy; the hair I do have is a dark auburn, sometimes described as "French hair'. I can, however, see traces of auburn when the light plays across it.

"Who are you?" I ask Mr. L.

"I am your father, _aji_."

"What did you say?"

"What, '_aji_'?" He asks, and I nod my head in agreement. "'_Aji_' means 'little one' or 'child' in _Kalekan_, a dialect of the language you will need to learn: the language of the Angelus."

"Why?"

"Because, _ma petite_, your parentage is not completely human. You are half Angelus. And that half will soon become evident."

"What is an Angelus?"

"You are just old enough that the signs will start to appear soon. Have you ever either noticed or been told that your eyes turn colors, especially when emotional?"

"Sometimes they flash a vivid blue—even in the light," I answer.

Mr. L's hands disappear into the folds of his robe. I am with him in his private railcar. I did not know many people still rode the rails… His hands are very thin, long, and pale—much like mine… He holds in his seemingly delicate digits a vial containing a golden liquid.

"Drink this," he commands in a gentle, yet firm voice.

"Is it poison?" I ask. He laughs.

"No, _aji_. It is _mei'I_, a type of honey made from the nectar of the moonflower, taken at night during the height of the full moon. It is magical, _ma petite_."

I take it from his chilly fingers; raise it to my "nose", and then to my lips. It smells like honey, but with some unknown sweet spice. It tastes very good. It fills me with a warm feeling and I can feel my senses opening and expanding.

I didn't realize my eyes were closed until I opened them and _looked_. I could see _power_, many, many lines of power surrounding me.

Feathers surround Mr. L! What in the world? He has wings! Is he an angel? But… he has two pairs!

"Are… are you…"

"An angel?" He finishes. "No, my dear, I am not. I was once human like you. Well, only half human. You are almost pureblooded Angelus and so you should start growing yours soon also."

"Can you fly?"

"Yes, but it's easier at night."


	6. 5: Feathers

It started out as an insatiable itch that I could not scratch. It has been two years since I had come to live with the man I have come to call _faija_, or "father".

"Father, can you itch my back? It really itches and I can seem to satisfy it!"

Mr. L (I still call him that on occasion) is at his desk working on some latest piece. At first, I expect him to be angry with me for interrupting him, but instead, his eyes light up with a bright glow.

"Here, let me see. Take off your shirt, please, _aji_."

I obey without a protest. The cool air feels good against my burning, itchy skin on my back. I can feel his bony, cold fingers playing upon my back.

"_Faija_, is something wrong?"

"_Non, ma cherie._ For you, life's just beginning. They're just feathers now, but they'll grow quickly from now on and should not itch so bad again."


End file.
